Green tracery of fern to rust

Green tracery of fern to rust;
The shouldering hills to level dust,--
This is the law of rhythmic nature,
The ebb and flow of its may and must.

I hear the wind-harp's wilding tones
Sobbing a requiem o'er their bones;
"The golden-globëd skies shall perish,"
The harper harps as he wails and moans.

Wild heart, within thy ruby vault
Is flashed a purpose, free of fault
From great High Priest's own breast-plate splendid,--
E'en deathless life out of death's assault.